Just Like You
by RandomCreativePerson
Summary: John Watson has left Baker Street, in order to be with his new family. Two years have passed since Sherlock lost his only friend. During a case, he stumbles upon a girl who has lost her father. Given the responsibility of her protection and care,will the presence of someone Sherlock loves in his life change him for the better?


Just Like You

I actually wrote this for a friend whose birthday is tomorrow, but I was getting a little attached to the story, so... ta-da!

I do not own BBC Sherlock, or any of its characters.

"Blast," said Sherlock Holmes, under his heavy breath. Life without John was getting harder and harder every day. He had to do all the work himself, especially all the physical work. He missed ranting at someone who'd always give him compliments. He missed the feeling of having a friend. Mrs. Hudson and he were alone in the flat now, and they barely exchanged glances, let alone words. He had other options; he could live with his parents, or worse, Mycroft. He hated the fact that he had thrown his skull away.

Thank God, his brain was still sharp. He had tracked down a gang of kidnappers after looking at a victim's scarf. And that very case brought him to where he was now, and abandoned girls' hostel in the middle of nowhere.

The place had a dark, eerie feel to it, and each footstep made the rotten floorboards creak. One wrong step and Sherlock would go tumbling to his demise.

He quietly crept through the empty, lifeless hallways, soon hearing a sobbing voice.

"Dad, oh, dad..."

Sherlock pinpointed exactly where the sounds were originating from, and quietly opened a door on his left, only to be greeted by a shocking sight.

A young black-haired girl, no more than 8 years old was kneeling beside a man's corpse, shot in the back at point blank range. Her eyes and cheeks were red, and she was crying terribly. Sherlock slowly approached her, for the last time he approached a young girl, he had to 'die' later. He knelt down and faced her at eye level, felt the man's wrist for a pulse. He couldn't feel anything. His eyes met with the girl's, which were startlingly like his, blue-green. He attempted his most calm and gentle voice and asked her," What happened here, what's your name?"

The girl mumbled out her words between sobs. "Evelyn. I...I don't know. A man took something out of their pocket and this happened. There was a loud noise."

Sherlock slowly held out his hand and took hers in it. He helped her stand, and told her to stay behind him at all times. He called the police, and within minutes, they arrived, taking down the entire gang of kidnappers. After the game was up, Sherlock told D.I. Lestrade about Evelyn. Lestrade asked Sherlock what happened, at which he frowned.

"The girl was kidnapped; the father was clever enough to track her down to rescue her, but the kidnappers must have found him and finished him off, not bothering about the girl anymore. They must have had some sort of grudge against the father; they didn't do it for a ransom."

Lestrade inhaled deeply. "Well, then, we'll explain the happenings to her family, and return Evelyn to her mother. Sgt. Donovan! Try to track them down, and use the records if you have to, under my authority!" Sally whispered soothing words to Evelyn and gave Sherlock a sharp glare before walking off. He rolled his eyes.

After an hour, back in London, Sally walked into Lestrade's spacious office, and said," Sir, I think you'll want to see this." Lestrade followed Sally to her desk, on which a computer held the information of pretty much every resident of England. Lestrade skimmed through the seemingly endless list of names, looking for Evelyn Matthews' mother, Rebecca. He found it, and joy captured his face for a moment before leaving it immediately.

"This is bad", he said. "Terrible. Terrible!"

Sherlock sat quietly in the waiting room in the lobby of the police department. Evelyn sat opposite him, her tears drying up slightly. She still looked utterly miserable, and Sherlock was almost pushed to the edge of feeling sympathy. He looked around, and tried to deduce everything he could about the young girl.

She recently turned 7, and she enjoys painting. She has a fascination with butterflies, and she does not like playing with dolls. Sherlock couldn't get much more, considering her age, and tried focusing on something else.

Lestrade entered the room with a grim expression on his face. Sherlock stood up, acknowledging his presence. "What news?"

Lestrade sighed and said, "Her mother died in childbirth. She has no living family now, whatsoever. Now what do we do?"

Sherlock didn't even flinch on hearing the news. "Have you seen the state of her socks? They're very old, but she still wears them. Obviously, her father must have lived alone with her. A woman would have cared for her clothes more than a man. I expected him to be either involved in a divorce or a widower. Send her to an orphanage in London."

Lestrade closed his eyes momentarily and said, "They're all full, and not accepting any more children."

Sherlock groaned and said," Give her to Sally, they seem to have made a _connection_."  
Lestrade suppressed an urge to punch him. "Children can't simply be given away, as though they're being auctioned! She needs someone to care for her, someone who preferably doesn't work a desk job, and can spare time to take care of her."

Sherlock walked toward the exit door dismissively. "Put an ad in the paper," he said, waving his hand about. Lestrade put on a thoughtful face.

"You could take her."

Sherlock paused instantaneously, and then slowly let out a chuckle. "Me? Me, Lestrade, me?"

He turned around to face him. "I suppose you are under the impression that I'd make a great father? Me, yes, me, the dangerous 'psychopath' who solves grisly murders! Oh, what a wonderful influence I would be for a growing child! Me, who keeps body parts around the house, who shoots walls in the middle of the night, who plays the violin brutally when thinking, and who doesn't speak for days and days! What a wonderful father I would be!" he shouted angrily, making a few workers stare.

The girl hid behind Lestrade, frightened at the angry outburst. Something in Sherlock melted when he saw Evelyn's horrified face. He heard his own voice echo over and over again in his head.

_Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side_, it said.

_Love is a dangerous disadvantage_, it said.

_She has no one,_ said another familiar voice, though not his. John's.

_She's alone_, his voice said, _just like you_.

He felt as though his heart was fighting against his head, however little the effort may be.

_Bitterness is a paralytic, _his voice returned. _Love is a more vicious motivator._

His heart found its way to his throat first. He said, practically gulping out the words, "Alright. I'll take her to Baker Street."

The girl's eyes widened. Sherlock knelt, and he was eye level with her. "Come along," he said. "Hold my hand."

The girl reached out hesitantly, and grabbed Sherlock's hand. Lestrade grinned with a hint of surprise. "Take care of her," he said.

Sherlock gave a brisk nod in his direction, before walking out of the building. Once outside, he hailed a taxi, and sat in it with Evelyn.

"221B Baker Street," said Sherlock to the cabbie.

Evelyn glanced his way and said," What's your name?"

Sherlock answered her promptly. "Sherlock Holmes."

Evelyn seemed to think for some time. "Am I Evelyn Matthews?"

Sherlock frowned. Was she suffering from amnesia? "What else would you be?" he asked.

"Evelyn Holmes," she replied, nonchalantly.

Sherlock froze for a second, unsure of what to say, before he took a deep breath and said," Be whichever one sounds nicer."

Evelyn shrugged and said, "I like the name, Evelyn Holmes."

A ghost of a smile flitted on Sherlock's face. He simply said, "Don't you want to keep your parents' name?"

Evelyn sighed sadly. "I never met Mum. And Dad, well, I didn't like him, he hit me. I was in a boarding school. I liked being alone."

Sherlock never really expected a seven-year old to be so serious. Then again, the only children he interacted with were at his school when he was young, and Kate, John's daughter. He liked her. She was ridiculously curious, fiddling with Sherlock's scarf every time he visited. John had made him her godfather, and Sherlock had never been happier in being associated with a child. Only two, she had a charm that made everyone like her.

Sherlock attempted to make basic, friendly conversation. "So, do you like the violin?" Well, the friendliest he could manage.

Evelyn looked at him, and nodded. "I want to learn to play it. Do you like violins?"

Sherlock smiled and said, "I play a violin. I'll teach you."

Evelyn smiled enthusiastically. "What do you do? What is your job?"

Sherlock's smile toned down and he said," Well, I'm a consulting detective." It took him a while to register that a seven year old might not know what that meant. "I solve..." Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows in slight confusion. How was he to explain a detective's job to a kid without using the words _murder_ or _crime_? "...problems." The word popped into his head.

"What sort of problems? Math problems?"

Sherlock racked his brains for a decent answer. "People's problems. You know, like..."

"Catching bad people?"

Sherlock considered it, before saying, "Something like that."

"You're a superhero!" she said excitedly. "Awesome!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and relaxed comfortably in the car. Before he knew it, they had arrived at Baker Street. Paying the cabbie, Sherlock exited the claustrophobic vehicle, still holding Evelyn's hand protectively. He barged through the door without knocking, which was quite in-character. Evelyn smiled when she entered, admiring the old fashioned design of the building.

Mrs. Hudson poked her head out from the kitchen door to acknowledge the visitor, knowing that it had to be Sherlock. Therefore, she showed no surprise at seeing him, but the same couldn't be said when noticing Evelyn. Knowing that it was futile to guess what she was doing there, she posed the obvious question to Sherlock.

Sherlock took a deep breath, and said the words with utmost care, as though he was conducting an experiment. "She...is my daughter."

It took every inch of Mrs. Hudson's willpower to stop her from screaming, rather to stay in catatonic shock for a few seconds. She tried thinking of possible explanations for the announcement. Each one was stranger than the last. She eventually decided that he really was a psychopath, and had kidnapped her. After all, it was much more plausible than some of the others she had come up with.

Breaking the tense and dramatic silence, Sherlock said, "_Adopted _daughter."

Mrs. Hudson's posture relaxed a bit, but her eyes demanded an explanation. And Sherlock told her. He told about the case, the gang of kidnappers, Lestrade's suggestion, his fury, and eventual agreement. Still quite astonished, Mrs. Hudson asked if she'd require John's bedroom. "Of course," said Sherlock. "Do you suppose she'll sleep in the bathroom?"

In the midst of Sherlock's explanation, Evelyn had run upstairs, to explore the flat a little more. Meanwhile, downstairs, Mrs. Hudson spoke in a soft tone, "You know, she's quite young, and she might not be comfortable sleeping alone. Especially after the trauma of seeing her father murdered."

Sherlock finally registered what she meant, and replied, "Nonsense, she'll be fine," before walking up the stairs. As he entered the room upstairs, he found Evelyn looking at his case-board (where he pinned up new information the moment he received it) with fascination. She pointed at a piece of paper and said, "What's that?"

Sherlock glanced at the piece of paper and said, "That was the robbery of a golden statue of Bast (Egyptian cat goddess) from a local museum. Recovered it in a man called Ash's home 3 days later. Pathetic."

Evelyn only understood a few words of that monologue.

Sherlock sighed and tried repeating his sentence. "I...got a cat out of a tree. (An ash tree specifically)"

Evelyn's comprehension was more than enough for this statement, and she grinned. Sherlock was shocked at how much he had to simplify things in order to make her understand. _Priorities_, thought Sherlock. _I need to get her admitted into a school._ Sherlock switched on his laptop, and began researching schools near Baker Street. He soon found a rather nice one whose bus would drop and pick up Evelyn directly outside 221B. He wrote an email to the school, before remembering that he had solved the disappearance of three students for the same, with John. Using this to his advantage, he mentioned the case, hoping he would get a benefit or two.

A smirk crossed his face as he got another idea. He told Mrs. Hudson to take care of Evelyn while he left the house for a while.

John was rather happy in his new lifestyle. He had Mary, and he had Kate, and he had a steady job which still allowed him a bit of adventure. He had taken the job of a forensic specialist for Scotland Yard, and he could use his skills as a doctor and still have a part in helping society. He missed Sherlock, who had gone off the radar for obvious reasons. Ah, well. Every man has the right to his own life.

He had just come home, received a kiss from Mary, as well as a hug from Kate. John had just settled down on the couch to relax with a glass of water when the phone rang. Curious, he picked it up and said, "Hello?"

"Hello, John, lovely to talk to you!"

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson? Great to talk to you too!"

They had covered the everyday formalities (How's Mary? How's Kate?), when John asked, "How's Sherlock?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you, dear, Sherlock, he, well, has a daughter."

John rather ungracefully spit out his water, and possibly said, "What?" seventeen times.

"I said that Sherlock adopted a young girl."

"Why the hell would the Sherlock Holmes we know do that? For a case?"

Mrs. Hudson went on to tell him the story that Sherlock had told her, and told him that she was happy to have another sane person in the house. That made John chuckle. He decided to pay Sherlock (and Evelyn) a visit, along with Kate, while Mary went to a friend's place. After saying goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, he picked up Kate in his arms and went out to the car. After he had properly fastened both their seatbelts, he drove to Baker Street.

On his arrival, he got Kate out of the baby seat and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Hudson cheerfully opened the door. It felt good to be in Baker Street again.

Mrs. Hudson greeted him cheerfully, and told him to sit down while she made a cuppa. John asked to meet Evelyn, for whom Mrs. Hudson then called out. A girl of probably eight years of age walked into the antique, nostalgic living room. John's mouth almost fell open, because if someone were to make Sherlock a woman, and then make her a kid, she would be standing in front of him. It was almost as though she weren't adopted but had simply sprung from Sherlock's being into the world. Like myths, of Athena from Zeus.

Evelyn walked up to him and shook his hand, "I'm Evelyn. Evelyn Holmes."

John introduced himself and Kate, and told her that he was Sherlock's best friend. She smiled at sat in a chair opposite him, and John expected her to crib about not having a case. He exhaled in disbelief.

The door opened by itself, and John's best friend walked in with a medium-sized, paper-wrapped parcel in his hand. John got up involuntarily, surprised at the absence of a crutch by his side. His surroundings felt so alien to him that it seemed to be the day John first arrived at Baker Street. Sherlock stopped in his tracks and froze at the sight of John.

_God, does the man even age? _The fact that Sherlock hadn't changed a bit made John feel like even more of a stranger than he already did. Sherlock's face seemed to turn formal, and he greeted John by saying, "DNA or data?"

John's eyebrows raised a little and said, "Don't bother to explain how you knew I'm a DNA specialist at Scotland Yard. How've you been?"

"I haven't seen you in the past 2 years. Well, except at Lestrade's birthday party last year."

"Yeah, well, someone had to pay you back for the 2 years you were dead."

Sherlock paused thoughtfully. "You're absolutely right." John grinned, and momentarily, so did Sherlock. However, the sense of being out-of-place returned. Sherlock handed the parcel to Evelyn, said it was for her and told her to sit on his sofa, while he stood.

This gesture by itself demonstrated to John how much Sherlock's loneliness had changed him. Evelyn excitedly opened up the parcel, with a certain zeal, that John recognized to be a primary characteristic of the only consulting detective in the world. The paper of the parcel concealed a wooden box, not very attractive, but well-built and sturdy. Slowly opening the lid of the parcel, Evelyn gasped and started squirming in her seat. John curiously extended his head a little to catch a glimpse of what was in the mysterious box. Evelyn took out the contents of the box and smiled at Sherlock. The box contained a diminished version of Sherlock's violin, along with a bow. It happened to be built for early learners.

It briefly crossed John's mind that Sherlock might be more suited for fatherhood than he was, but the thought was so alarming that he pushed it away. Evelyn took an interest in Kate, and began playing with her gently. Sherlock and John also covered the formalities, before the conversation died out. Facing the truth was bitter, but also inevitable. They had grown apart, just like Mrs. Hudson had predicted years ago. John had moved on, made a family, and made his own life. However, Sherlock was left behind, like an athlete in a race. He had a difficult time moving on, and frankly, he didn't want to. He was so deep into his own life, he forgot that others' lives were zooming past him so quickly that he didn't get time to look up and notice.

_He probably didn't even miss me, the narcissistic moron. _


End file.
